


Predator

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-31
Updated: 2011-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:37:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He sees a new Doll named Echo. Maybe she'll be like him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Predator

They think he's a contained thing, when he knows the wildness caught inside. He knows what lurks beneath the surface of his placid face, knows it as sure as he knows Whiskey is still an empty thing once they take personalities out of her. His memories bleed through; he's nowhere near as blank as they think he is. He knows where the cameras are and where they aren't, and he sees the people move back and forth on schedule.

Echo is new, all shiny and pleasant looking, a doll that was just taken out of the wrapping. There's just a little more than that in her eyes, though, something else that might be residual. It's too soon to tell; he had only gotten awareness relatively recently. He itches to take his hands around her throat, force her down over a couch and bend her to his will. She is still pliant, still too much of a doll. It won't be any fun like this, because she will do whatever he asks of her. It's no fun without the struggle.

He catches her in one of the few alcoves without cameras. Her eyes are empty, childlike. He remembers what it means to be childlike, like he remembers that they call him Alpha, but he doesn't remember being a child. He presses his hand against her chest, and she looks at him curiously. "Are you not feeling your best?" she asks, no inflection in her tone.

His smile is sharp, a predator's smile, but Echo is too simple to understand it. "Oh, I'll be at my best pretty soon."

"Shall we go to the doctor? They always help you feel your best."

"Echo." He has her attention, silly empty doll that she is. "Why don't we play a game?"

She smiles, all innocence. "I like games. Is this one difficult to play?"

Alpha remembers this, the push and pull and rising desire. He remembers the taste of blood and a woman's arousal. "No, it's not difficult," he tells her, his smile sharp and full of teeth. "You just touch me the way I touch you. Can you do that?"

She puts her hand on his chest, a slight curve to her lip. "Like this."

"Yes. Like that." He slides his hand down inside her loose pants, touches the curls between her legs. "Go on, do what I do."

"Is this a game to play with others, too?" she asks, sliding her own hand down his pants. Her touch on him is firm and impersonal, her eyes still wide and trusting.

"No. Just us. Just for us to play. Understand?" She nods happily, though she looks at him in confusion when he strokes her. "Just wait. This gets better."

"Alpha?" she asks, her voice trembling slightly. "What's this?"

"Don't you like this game?"

She is about to answer when he slides his fingers inside her and feels the wetness. Her words come out like a sigh, her hand tightening around him. "I don't know how to play," she whispers instead, looking at him. It's a vulnerable expression, and it's all he can do to keep himself from kissing it off her face, from sinking his teeth into her throat to taste the blood that must be beneath it.

They think he's a tamed thing, a contained thing. They are _wrong_ on so many levels, and he knows he'll show them all.

"Like this, Echo," he tells her, his voice husky with need. Appetites are all the same, really. It doesn't matter how it gets fed.

He drives his fingers in hard, making her gasp and cling to him. She comes, tight around his fingers and making little moaning sounds that make him want to tear her apart. Instead, she kicks off her pants when he suggests it, and she tries to take him into her mouth like a good little doll. He slides his fingers through her hair, but she has trouble getting it quite right. She's too new, not enough residue left behind in her mind. She looks up at him, a question on her face as he pulls out of her mouth. Her lips are pouty and red, she's kneeling in front of him and she smells of sex.

He picks her up and fucks her hard against the wall, making her laugh and gasp and hold onto him. He growls when she calls the wrong name as she comes. He doesn't know what his name is, but he sure as hell knows it isn't Alpha. But it's as good as any for the moment; hers isn't Echo anyway. He pushes in deep, feeling her clutch at him from without and within, and he tumbles down into bliss against her.

"I think I like this game," Echo tells him as she puts her pants back on. Her smile is vacant and empty, and he wants to smack it from her face.

He doesn't. He can wait. He can ride it out a little longer, wait and see if she truly has a glimmer of knowledge in her eyes, or if she remains an empty shell the way Whiskey does. If she's empty, he'll have to wait for someone new. If she begins to fill up...

They're the same, and that excites him. He wants the chase, wants to be caught by someone worth catching him. These fools in the Dollhouse are idiots. They can't see what's in their midst, can't see what's beneath the placid surface. He wants them to put their best Active forward, wants _her_ if she can be the one.

Whiskey is empty. She's nothing. He can always make her less than nothing, and then Echo can be number one. He can build her up and let her go, then watch and make sure she becomes what she's meant to be.

A predator, like him.


End file.
